There are things you expect at any parade: peppy drum lines, solicitous politicians, wide-eyed children diving for candy.

At a parade for a slain civil rights leader, though, there are sights and sounds that seem stark departures from the festive feel. Crowds cheering two or three thick along downtown streets Monday, past bail bond businesses and homeless wanderers, took in plenty of serious amid the revelry of Houston's "Original" MLK parade.

They saw banners like the one from KIPP's Liberation school that featured the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr.'s face, an American flag, and the words, "Yesterday's Dream. Tomorrow's Reality."

It prompted the question: What about today? Are we there yet? Can we ever be?

An elusive goal

No one I asked said they thought we, in the year 2013, had achieved King's dream. A few expressed hope we would be there in their children's lifetimes. Others suggested King's dream is more than a finite goal. It's something more elusive, almost cloudlike. Something we can see from afar but never touch.

"You know, I think it's a work in progress," 26-year-old Precious Carr told me, keeping one eye on her 3-year-old son attempting to squirm out of his stroller.

"Do I think it can ever be realized? Probably in another life," she said with a laugh, and then added: "You know, I don't think so. I think it has to be when we get to our final destination. That's my opinion."

Eva Williams, an Humble custodian who usually watches the parade on TV, said she took off from work to be there in person and put it bluntly: "We have a long way to go."

Yes, we have a black president, she explained, but in some ways, "we're seeing issues with him that we didn't see with a white president. So the equality is not there."

A young father, Geoffrey King, had just taken a free pamphlet out of his toddler's hand that some passing hawker handed out. He was throwing it away when I walked up to ask my question about what exactly King's dream is.

"It's just that ever-continuing love that we should all show one another that he was pushing for," King told me as he asked his daughter to wipe her little brother's runny nose. "It's not something that you can just achieve and be complete. It's something that we have to continue doing every day."

Living King's teachings

King, 27, who said he was a staff sergeant in the Air Force and that he and his children are related to the civil rights leader, told me his family has traveled to Atlanta to visit King's grave site and his museum.

He said he and his children start every day with a devotional that helps them live King's teachings about forgiveness, grace and mercy.

As he was talking, the raucous crowd quieted a bit. We turned to see marching in the parade a white man, thin, wearing a long, dark, fake beard, leading three young black children around in chains. The children were dressed as slaves, and so was a long-skirted woman walking alongside them. A trickle of applause followed them.

"No comment," King told me, shaking his head. It's not something he wanted his children to see. It's not something any of us wanted to see. But some could appreciate the message.

"It was a little disturbing," said 42-year-old Janice Rogers, a Pearland consultant who took the day off to attend the parade for the first time with her husband, Rick, and sons, Malik and Jordan. "To have kids in bondage like that was a little over the top, but some people, the only way they can send their message is by shocking people. So maybe that's what they were trying to do."

"Maybe it served its purpose," said her husband, Rick, a senior director at a staffing firm, dressed in Dallas Cowboys T-shirt and cap. "To get people to think about something deeper than cars and parades and bands and fire trucks. It was disturbing, but I guess it served its purpose."

Fewer barriers

I asked Rick the question about whether we're there yet.

He said his 12-year-old son's generation is closer than his has gotten. They seem to acknowledge fewer barriers. They seem to be more welcoming of differences. They seem more willing to broaden their minds.

"Do you think we'll be there in their generation, when they're your age?" I asked him.

For 12-year-old Malik, dressed in 49ers red and listening nearby, the question wasn't worth a philosophical discussion or even a second thought.

"Yes!" he shouted with a broad smile.

And with that, I think we all felt a twinge of hopefulness, a burst of joy worthy, more than worthy, of a cracking drum, a spray of candy, a jubilant parade down hard streets.